


This and that of you

by dotfic



Series: syntaxverse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blindfolds, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-30
Updated: 2010-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you trust me?" Dean said, and when Dean grinned like that, Castiel wondered, again, if he should feel more shame for the choices he'd made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This and that of you

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Set in [the syntax 'verse](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/tag/syntax 'verse) (which is AU after 4x22). Title by ee cummings. Thank you to the awesome nyoka for the beta. Written for my [kissbingo](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/318521.html) table, prompt - _experimental: blindfold_.

At first, when Castiel had acquired his own body, he'd thought it was the sensations magnifying themselves a hundredfold, as if this change had turned up the volume the way Dean could raise the sound on the Impala's speaker. A few weeks went by with colors too bright, noises too loud, every touch, every slight pain ricocheting through him, when he was ready to run, to get away by himself in a remote corner of the planet, even knowing what that would do to Dean.

Then it stopped. He could breathe again, he could wear this suit of bones and tendons and blood without feeling like he might go mad.

The sensations, Castiel realized, weren't the issue. It was that without Jimmy in there, there was nothing between him and them. So easy, before, to blame all kinds of things on the vessel, things he'd thought were weaknesses, things he shouldn't be feeling. Yet it was all him, it was all Castiel and he tasted that knowledge with a small hint of embarrassment that wasn't nearly as large as a giddy warmth.

"Do you trust me?" Dean said, and when Dean grinned like that, Castiel wondered, again, if he should feel more shame for the choices he'd made, and knew even if he did, he would still make them all over again.

* * *

Lucifer was out of his cage, and while Dean had declared they were done hiding, they still spent some of their time at Bobby Singer's. Sam's tall form at the desk with a stack of books that managed to dwarf him, Dean rubbing his eyes as he sat on the battered couch paging through volume after volume, Bobby often bringing in another crate of books acquired from somewhere. They smelled almost sweet with dust and mold and aged paper that crumbled at the corners if Dean turned the pages too hard; Sam was always more careful.

Castiel looked at Sam now and thought he understood why Dean was protective towards him, why Dean wouldn't give up on him, but Sam was still a puzzle. Tainted, and yet how could something tainted be this bright in soul -- angry, yes, but determined to save others and a kindness beneath the sharp edges. One morning during those terrible few weeks, Sam had found Castiel huddled up in the yard against the frame of a Ford truck. Trying to find quiet with his head buried in his arms, weak and useless while Lucifer ran free. Sam's fingers, light on his shoulder, made it so Castiel could stand up, stilled the fear a little.

* * *

Dean's shoulder and most of his arm leaned against Castiel's, warm and too much pressure to be anything but deliberate, while Dean paged through another large volume spread open on his lap. Despite the suit Castiel wore, and his trenchcoat, when Dean licked a finger to turn a page, he thought he might as well be wearing nothing. Dean could be very distracting, especially when he wasn't trying to be.

They were alone, Sam gone for a run, Bobby gone to the next town after a call from his friend Rufus about a weapon he wanted help acquiring. Castiel kept his hands on his knees, peering down at the book. An artist's engraving of Hell, lurid colors faded only a little with time, filled a full page, and Castiel glanced up at Dean, from habit, from knowing when to look, and caught the hard bob of his Adam's Apple as he swallowed.

"I don't even know what we're looking for." Dean slammed the book shut, sending up a little cloud of dust that made him cough and Castiel's eyes water.

As Dean leaned to put the book on the nearest table, his arm and shoulder moved away.

* * *

After that first kiss, for weeks, Dean hadn't touched Castiel. Watched him, had kept asking if he was okay so many times Castiel began to understand the appeal of punching people. Or Dean kept avoiding him. The one touch Castiel most craved was the one he couldn't seem to have.

That had finally ended with Castiel shoving Dean up against the back wall of the house, fingers digging into Dean's shoulders, holding him there and glaring, unsure of how to ask for what he wanted. After a moment of astonishment, Dean had said softly, a touch of amusement in his voice _glad you're feeling better_ , before Castiel had covered Dean's mouth with his, kissing him hard, tired of Dean being so _careful_ with him.

The first time they'd had sex, Dean had told Castiel he was still afraid, afraid of doing damage, of causing some horrible consequence. _You're a freakin' angel for crying out loud. And I'm -- I'm not exactly the poster child for upstanding citizen_.

That kind of candor from Dean was an offering Castiel at the very least cherished, and at most wanted to return in kind, but he hadn't been able to, frightened at the exactness of their mirroring. How with every brush of his fingers over Dean's body, every taste of his skin against his tongue, every time Dean arched his head back, every defense gone with Castiel thrusting into him, Castiel feared hurting him in some way he hadn't yet discerned. Leaving invisible marks. The scar that lived on Dean's shoulder because Castiel had gripped his soul too tight reproached him; Castiel was careful not to touch it.

Instead of answering Dean, he'd murmured in Enochian and Latin, lips moving against Dean's skin, and even if Dean hadn't understood the words, he could at least catch their intent.

* * *

Dean reached for another book, sat back, and his shoulder settled into place against Castiel's.

After a few minutes, Dean propped a boot up on the table, so his thigh leaned on Castiel's as they studied the text together. It was Latin in a cramped handwriting and Dean kept cursing under his breath, raising the book to see it better.

"Show off," he grumbled when Castiel spoke the translation of an entire page out loud.

"I only want to help," Castiel said.

Dean placed the book open on the stack of other books. He leaned forward with his elbows against his knees and started to rub at his temples. His shoulder no longer rested against Castiel's, but his thigh did and his arm kept brushing Castiel's ribs.

It was perhaps unwise, but Castiel reached up, putting his fingers over Dean's, stilling them. He pushed Dean's fingers away and started rubbing, Dean's warm skin and the soft bristle of the edge of his short-cropped hair running against the pads of Castiel's fingers. Dean closed his eyes and let out a noise from deep in his throat that made Castiel go all the way to hard. He stopped rubbing and lowered his hands.

He'd done it now. Dean turned towards him, opening his eyes, which had gone too bright, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, the expression that meant he'd gotten a particular kind of idea that usually had to do with chocolate cake, explosives, or sex. Castiel saw Dean's gaze flicker down to his mouth. But instead of leaning in to kiss him, Dean started to work at the knot of Castiel's tie, knuckles brushing against Castiel's neck.

"What are you doing?" Castiel said, and was startled by the catch in his own voice. He cleared his throat.

"Dude, relax, it's just a tie." Dean had it loosened and off in seconds.

Castiel, to use Dean-speak, was totally screwed.

Tie dangling from his fingers, Dean tilted his head, gaze tracking over Castiel's body. "And lose the jacket and coat, all right? It's warm in here, and besides, it's depressing. Feels like you're about to go into a very dull meeting. Or there should be fog around you."

Shrugging out of his trenchcoat and suit jacket, Castiel tossed them across the room to land on a chair, where once he might've gotten up and folded them neatly; but he didn't want to get up. The tattered old couch was soft and Dean was leaning over him with his tie hanging from his fingers, and Castiel wanted to forget for a little while that Lucifer was free, the weight that was with him always now, not just for Dean and Sam, Bobby Singer, the Harvelles, the Novaks, but for an entire planet.

Dean moved his hands towards Castiel's head and Castiel drew back, unsure.

"Do you trust me?" Dean said, and when Dean grinned like that, Castiel wondered, again, if he should feel more shame for the choices he'd made, and knew even if he did, he would still make them all over again.

"What's the purpose of this exercise?" Castiel said, as Dean put the thickness of the tie gently over his eyes, taking away his sight.

Castiel was accustomed to using senses that had nothing to do with sight, or taste or smell or hearing, yet they had been similar to those things. It was different now, and while if he tried, he could sense Dean's presence using his grace, it was only a flicker. If he knew Dean was there it was from touch and heat and movement.

"Do you trust me?" Dean said, more slowly, and while Castiel could only see the black-blue darkness of the fabric with a slit of light now, he didn't need to see Dean to understand that the answer mattered.

"Yes," said Castiel, and Dean knotted the tie, gently pulling at the hair on the back of Castiel's head.

Then there were fingers unbuttoning the top few buttons of Castiel's shirt, short hair tickling his jaw, and a tongue in the hollow of his throat. Castiel dug his fingers into Dean's hair, inhaling sweet book dust and a hint of soap and sweat and the heat of Dean's body.

Dean's mouth traveled up from Castiel's throat to his jaw, teeth and tongue playful against his skin. The couch cushion shifted beneath Castiel, and then Dean's weight was on him. Castiel's hands moved down to find Dean's thighs, the rough softness of denim, and discovered Dean was straddling him, his knees against the cushion on either side of Castiel's hips.

The fabric of the tie let in a little bit of light, if he glanced up or down, while the dangling ends brushed the base of his neck. Dean had knotted it tight, the cloth pushing against Castiel's eyelids, making paler swirls against the darkness. Dean's lips brushed against his, starting at the corners. Then his tongue licked at Castiel's lower lip, mouth covering his fully. Dean's tongue pushed in, tracing over his teeth, and Castiel opened his mouth to him, his tongue meeting Dean's while Castiel pressed his fingers against Dean's thighs. He slid his hands up to his hips, Dean moving at his touch, thrusting against him, gone hard as Castiel.

"Shit, Cas," Dean murmured into his mouth when Castiel moved his hand down to cup Dean through his jeans.

When Castiel pushed with his palm, Dean's breath went shaky before he started kissing him again, hands on either side of Castiel's face, kissing him like they had no time, like they wouldn't get to do this again, even though they did this kind of thing quite frequently, taking it in the corners where they could.

Dean's fingers left Castiel's face, sliding down his body, and Castiel let out a small moan before he could help it. There was a pull and a click as Dean worked Castiel's belt buckle free, and then Dean's fingers undid the clasp of his slacks. Castiel felt the tug as Dean pulled down the zipper.

He tasted Dean's mouth, still on his as Dean stroked him, fast and hard, while Castiel pushed up into his touch, the heart of his strange new human body racing. Castiel put his hand on Dean's chest, felt his heart going fast through the cotton of his t-shirt. He slid his hand under the fabric, and up, against muscles that twitched at his touch, then downwards, over his stomach. Dean's body jerked, and he made a raw, wanting sound. Castiel found the circle of metal, warmed by Dean's body, of the button on his jeans, pulled the button from its eyehole, and fumbled around until he found the zipper. Dean huffed a small laugh, breath warm against his cheek, and Castiel got the joke, it was a challenge met. But the smugness went out of Dean as Castiel wrapped his fingers around his cock and started to stroke.

It was tempting to pull the blindfold off; Castiel liked to watch Dean's face. But he envisioned it now, while Dean's nose pressed against Castiel's cheek and Dean's breath went ragged, warm tickle of it against his skin.

With the darkness over his eyes exploding into white, Castiel came first, as Dean's mouth covered his again. Dean came a moment later, sticky over Castiel's fingers, and they shuddered together. Then Dean slumped his full weight onto Castiel. Their breathing slowed, and Castiel slid his fingers slowly up along the familiar ridge of Dean's back, under his t-shirt, and back down again. They remained like that, a few moments, a minute, maybe two, Dean's fingers tracing the line of Castiel's jaw, before Dean climbed off him, a weight gone that had been nothing at all, and everything.

Castiel reached up to untie the knot at the back of his head. The daylight blinded him for a moment, and he blinked while Dean zipped himself up and went off and came back with tissues so they could clean up. Castiel tucked himself back in, zipped himself up, too conscious of his own body as Dean watched him. He knotted the tie back into place, the ritual second nature now, then glanced over at Dean again. Tufts of Dean's hair stood up from the attention of Castiel's fingers and the lines of his face were softer than usual, skin a little flushed.

There was something indecent about how Castiel's jacket and coat were sprawled over the back of the chair, arms hanging down towards the floor, so Castiel turned away to fold them, but he didn't put them back on. They were too heavy now.

Castiel walked over to where Dean stood staring down at the book they'd left open, line of his jaw going tight again. Castiel reached up and cupped Dean's face in his palm, and the way Dean leaned into the touch made Castiel feel completely undone in ways sex never did.

Drawing away, Dean picked up the book. They sat down, and went back to work.

~end


End file.
